Robert Sawyer - Hybrids

Mary looked around the large living room as well. “This is the kind of house most people live in-at least, here in North America. Well, actually, this is an exceptionally nice house, and most people live in big cities, not out in the country.” She paused. “Do you like it?”

“It will take some getting used to,” said Bandra. “But, yes, I do like it very much. It’s so big!”

“Two stories,” said Mary. “Thirty-five hundred square feet, plus basement.” She gave Bandra’s Companion a second to do the conversion, then smiled. “And there are three bathrooms.”

Bandra’s wheat-colored eyes went wide. “The lap of luxury!”

Mary smiled, recalling the slogan of the hair dye she used. “We’re worth it.”

“And you say the surrounding land is ours, as well?”

“Yup. All 2.3 acres.”

“But…but can we afford it? I know here everything has a cost.”

“We certainly couldn’t afford this much land anywhere near Toronto. But here, outside Lively? Sure. After all, Laurentian University will be paying us both well, as academic salaries go.”

Bandra sat down on the living-room couch and gestured toward the dark wood curio cabinets, filled with little carvings. “The furnishings and decorations are beautiful,” she said.

“It’s an unusual mix,” said Mary. “Canadian and Caribbean. Of course, Reuben’s family will want some of the things, and I’m sure Louise will want a few, as well, but we’ll get to keep most of them. I bought the house furnished.”

Bandra looked down. “I wish I had met your friend Reuben.”

“You’d have liked him,” said Mary, sitting next to Bandra on the couch. “He was a terrific person.”

“Won’t it make you sad, though?” asked Bandra. “Living here?”

Mary shook her head. “Not really. See, this is where Ponter, Louise, Reuben, and I were all quarantined together during Ponter’s first visit to my world. It’s where I got to know Ponter, where I started to fall in love with him.” She pointed across the room, at some heavy built-in bookcases, filled with mystery novels. “I can picture him, right there, using the edge of that far bookcase as a scratching post, shimmying left and right. And we had so many wonderful conversations on this very couch. I know I’ll only be with him four days a month from now on, and mostly in his world, not mine, but it’s like, in a way, that this is his home, too.”

Bandra smiled. “I understand.”

Mary patted her knee. “And that’s why I love you. Because you do understand.”

“But,” said Bandra, grinning now, “it won’t be just the two of us much longer. It’s been a long time since I’ve lived in a house with a baby in it.”

“I hope you’ll help me,” said Mary.

“Of course. I know what ninth-daytenth feedings are like!”

“Oh, I don’t mean that…although I certainly would be grateful! No, what I mean is I hope you’ll help me in bringing up Ponter and my daughter. I want her to know and appreciate both cultures, Gliksin and Barast.”

“True synergy,” said Bandra, smiling widely. “Two really becoming One.”

Mary smiled back at her. “Exactamundo.”

The call came two days later, about six in the evening. Mary and Bandra had finished their first full day at Laurentian, and were relaxing in their house, the house that had been Reuben’s. Mary was stretched out on the couch, finally finishing the Scott Turow novel she’d started ages ago, back before the first opening of the interuniversal portal. Bandra was reclining in the La-Z-Boy that had come with the place, the very one Mary had slept in during the quarantine. She was reading a book of her own on a Neanderthal datapad.

When the two-piece phone on the little table next to the couch rang, Mary folded down the paperback’s page, sat up, and lifted the handset. “Hello?”

“Hello, Mary,” said a female voice with a Pakistani accent. “It’s Qaiser Remtulla from York calling.”

“My goodness, hello! How are you?”

“I’m fine, but-but I’m calling with sad news. You remember Cornelius Ruskin?”

Mary felt her stomach clench. “Of course.”

“Well, I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you, but I’m afraid he’s passed away.”

Mary’s eyebrows went up. “Really? But he was so young…”

“Thirty-five, I’m told,” said Qaiser.

“What happened?”

“There was a fire, and…” She paused, and Mary could hear her swallowing hard. “And there wasn’t much left, apparently.”

Mary struggled to find a response. At last an “Oh” escaped her lips.

“Did you-do you want to come to the memorial service? It’s going to be on Friday, here in Toronto.”

Mary didn’t have to think about that. “No. No, I really didn’t know him,” she said. I really didn’t know him at all.

“Well, okay, I understand,” said Qaiser. “I just thought we should inform you.”

Mary wanted to tell Qaiser that she should sleep peacefully, now that the man who had raped her-who had raped both of them-was dead, but…

But Mary wasn’t supposed to be aware of Qaiser’s rape. Her mind was reeling; she’d find some way to eventually let Qaiser know. “I do appreciate the call. Sorry I can’t make it.”

They said their goodbyes, and Mary placed the handset in its cradle. Bandra had returned the La-Z-Boy to its upright position. “Who was that?”

Mary walked over to Bandra and extended her arms, helping Bandra to her feet. She then pulled Bandra close to her.

“Are you all right?” asked Bandra.

Mary hugged her tight. “I’m fine,” she said.

Bandra said, “You’re crying.” She couldn’t see Mary’s face, which was nestled into her shoulder; perhaps she smelled the salt in the tears.

“Don’t worry,” said Mary softly. “Just hold me.”

And Bandra did precisely that.

“ My fellow human beings, my fellow Homo sapiens, we will continue our great journey, continue our wondrous quest, continue ever outward. That is our history, and it is our future. And we will not stop, not falter, not give up until we have reached the farthest stars.”

Ponter and Adikor had been spending a lot of time at the United Nations, advising a committee that was trying to decide whether to continue construction of the new, permanent portal between UN headquarters and the corresponding site on Donakat Island. After all, if men couldn’t use it, some were arguing, then all work should be abandoned. Louise Benoit had been appointed to the same committee.

Laurentian University, of course, took a Christmas break-meaning that Mary and Bandra were free for the holidays. And so they’d decided to fly down to New York to spend New Year’s Eve with Louise, Ponter, and Adikor in Times Square.

“It’s incredible!” said Bandra, shouting to be heard above the crowd. “How many people are here?”

“They usually get half a million,” said Mary.

Bandra looked around. “Half a million! I don’t think there have ever been half a million Barasts together in one place.”

“So,” said Ponter, “why do you celebrate the new year on this date? It’s not a solstice or an equinox.”

“Um,” said Louise, “I honestly don’t know. Mary?”

Mary shook her head. “I haven’t a clue.” She sought Louise’s eyes, tried to imitate her accent above the din. “But any day’s a good day to par-tay!” But a smile was too much to hope for; it was still much too soon.

“So what’s going to happen tonight?” asked Adikor.

Everything was bathed in a neon glow. “See that building over there?” said Mary, pointing.

Adikor and Ponter nodded.

“That used to be the headquarters of the New York Times newspaper-that’s why this is called Times Square. Anyway, see the flagpole on top? It’s seventy-seven feet tall. A giant ball, weighing a thousand pounds, will be lowered down that pole starting precisely at 11:59 P.M., and it will take exactly sixty seconds to reach the bottom. When it does, that’s the beginning of the new year, and a big fireworks display will begin.” Mary held up a bag; they’d each received one, compliments of the Times Square Business Improvement District. “Now, when the ball hits the bottom-well, you’re supposed to kiss your loved ones first, and shout ‘Happy New Year.’ But you’re also supposed to toss the contents of your bag into the air. It’s full of little bits of paper called confetti.”